


Rewind

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: Altair uses the Apple to rewrite the past (or simply torightit).He expected there would be a price. He did not expect it would be this.





	Rewind

"Discretion, Altair!" The words were a hiss, but they were vehement because Maik had had it up to _here_ with Altair's arrogance and disregard for all they have been taught. If they hadn't been on a mission he was sure they would have come to blows by now.

Then, a strange thing happened.

Even years afterwards Malik would not be able to find words that properly conveyed what it felt like. The closest he came to it was this: the world seemed to waver for a moment.

He thought he saw Altair's mouth move, forming the words, _"You mean cowardice. That man is our greatest enemy. And here we have a chance to be rid of him!"_

He might have said, in reply, _"You have already broken two tenets of our Creed. Now you would break the third: do not compromise the Brotherhood!"_

And then his blood would _boil_ when that arrogant _ass_ tipped his head back to look down on him, _"I am your superior, in both title and ability. You should know better than to question me."_

Except none of it happened. The torch light flickered and he was standing exactly as he'd been when he said Altair's name. As for Altair, he was staring right at Malik without the expected sneer. Instead he looked surprised, then calm.

"You are right."

The words caught him by surprise and even Kadar looked away from the treasure they were meant to secure to stare. Malik tried to recall a moment in all their years training together when Altair had acknowledged so easily that another person (besides Al Mualim) and not himself was in the right. He couldn't think of a single instance. Malik was still grappling with his shock when Altair turned back to watch the Templars below them with a frown.

"But we cannot allow Robert De Sable to leave with the treasure, either." Malik thought, surely, there was nothing stranger than the fact that Altair seemed to actually be _thinking_ about the situation instead of doing the first fool thing that came to his head. Then Altair turned back to him and proved that it could, in fact become stranger, "What do you suggest we should do?"

Malik expected the question to be mocking, but it seemed entirely sincere. Altair, the man who, just moments ago, had dissmissively said, "My way was better." was now asking Malik for his opinion.

"I--" Malik swallowed the instinctive need to ask if Altair had hit his head or if he had eaten something off the road side that he shouldn't have when neither he nor Kadar were looking. Altair did not smirk at him or mock him for being at a loss for words (it almost seemed like he had smiled a little, though that had to be his imagination. He had never once in all the years knowing Altair seen him smile sincerely). Malik looked down at the assembled Templars. "We will lose the element of surprise before we kill them all." For a fraction of a second, the world wavered again, and Malik saw Altair walking right up to Robert De Sable and their men, ruining any chance they had to sneak up. Then it was gone like smoke in the wind and Malik's hand instinctively came up to clutch at his head, "We will increase our chances of success by taking out the strongest of them first."

Altair nodded, "Robert De Sable."

"Yes."

Malik could hear the sound of his brother shuffling from foot to foot before he said, "So we will fight?" With an enthusiasm that was worrying (patience was something Kadar must learn), but also a releif. At least Kadar was still acting like himself.

Malik hesitated, then, squaring his shoulders, turned to face Altair, "when we have decided on a plan of attack."

"I will deal with De Sable." The words were not strange, but try as he might, Malik could not find any trace of arrogance in them.

It seemed every time Altair talked, Malik felt off-kilter and it annoyed him that he could not figure out what was going on. "Oh? You have a plan then?" The words were acid but Altair only ducked his head and accepted them.

"I do, but there is no time to explain." He looked up then, and there was such _warmth_ and respect in his countenance that it stole the words Malik meant to say right out of his throat. It seemed intimate and Malik felt, all of a sudden, as if he were intruding on something. Altair reached over and clapped a hand on Malik's shoulder, "Will you trust me, brother?"

Malik shrugged off the hand out of instinct, "You will do it whether I trust you or not."

Altair did not deny the statement, but he said, "But I will fly with more confidence with your trust."

Kadar looked between them with confusion written into the knit of his brow and Malik wished he could explain what was happening (but he had no idea either).

Altair walked towards the edge of where they were standing. "Stay together." He looked briefly over his shoulder at Kadar, "do not stray from your brother's side."

Kadar nodded, though he didn't quite understand why Altair said it (though Malik thought, with bitter envy, that Kadar would surely do as Altair said).

Then Altair was back to watching the edge...then, with only a short nod to them, he jumped.

Both of them leaned over the edge just in time to see Altair landing on Robert De Sable's back with his hidden blade unsheathed, burying it into the Templar's neck.

* * *

In the aftermath, Malik examined Altair's hidden blade, broken from the impact with a frown.

"Well, what did you expect?" He dropped Altair's arm with a frown, "our hidden blades are not meant for such techniques. It is a wonder that you managed to practise without breaking it before this."

Altair laughed softly, flicked his wrist to retract the broken blade. They had made camp some distance from Solomon's Temple. Kadar was asleep and, really, Malik should be as well since it was Altair's watch, but he had been curious about the technique he had used back in the temple.

"Where did you even get such an idea?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Malik frowned at that answer. He had never known Altair to speak so frankly with...anyone, actually. Usually he talked so condescendingly to others that even to hear snatches of his voice in the hall would raise Malik's ire. It was hard to muster any anger for the man now, for though he was being cryptic it lacked his usual arrogance.

"Fine. Keep your secrets." Malik sat back with a frown.

Altair's mouth curved into a smile (and it _was_ a smile, in the flickering light of their campfire it was plain to see however uneblievable it might be).

"Would you like to learn it?" When Malik only continued to frown, he continued, "I could teach you...and then perhaps we could improve upon it."

The offer was _genuine_ and that was the strangest thing. Finally, Malik gave in and just placed the back of his hand against Altair's forehead.

"You do not seem to have a fever. Did you hit your head?" It was a perfectly valid queston given Altair's behaviour but the ass only laughed at him. Malik scowled and was pulling back when Altair caught him by the wrist.

"Peace, Malik. I did not mean to offend." Then he stared at the hand caught in his, and there was a flicker of something like guilt and pride and Malik had no idea _why_. It was only a hand, it wasn't as if Altair didn't have a pair of his own. His thumb started running idle circles on the inside of Malik's left wrist and, though the grip was loose Malik could not bring himself to pull away. "I did mean it when I said I could use some help. I have not perfected the technique yet and I could use your counsel."

That Malik was attracted to men was something he had long ago accepted. That he had lusted after Altair's body was also an unfortunate thing he had come to accept about himself. He had thought himself past that, however. The attraction was not so great that he could overlook Altair's terrible personality.

But without arrogance and contempt marring his face, it was hard to push away the fact that Altair was handsome and it was harder to not stare at his mouth when it was not turned up in a sneer.

There was a gentle tug at his hand that dragged Malik's attention back to Altair's eyes (where they should have been this entire time), and found them shining with such sweet affection that Malik was sure he must have stepped out of reality because he did not even think Altair was capable of any emotion besides derision and aloofness. He brought Malik's hand up and when he spoke his lips caressed the skin of his knuckles distractingly.

"And perhaps, we may perfect other techniques together?"

Malik raises his brows because that line had been _awful_ , "You presume much." He pulled his hand back and was surprised when Altair gives it up with barely any fight. The Altair he knew was always pushing and pushing until he geot what he wanted, so it was a surprise for him to just let go.

"That was not a refusal." The tease was good-natured when there has been nothing 'good-natured' about their rivalry.

Malik only frowned, "If you want to find amusement then go elsewhere, there are any number of women who would be willing. I will not be another conquest for you." He was all set to go join Kadar in sleep, if not for how the smile finally dropped from Altair's expression.

"Forgive me, brother. That was not my intention." Altair looked _uncertain_ and Malik was beginning to realize he should not so hastily label anything the strangest thing he had seen tonight when Altair seemed intent on proving him wrong constantly. "I admire your skill, your strength and your dedication to our Creed." Altair reached out to trail his fingers over Malik's cheek, "You are not and never will be just a conquest."

Malik took a steadying breath even if it does little to hide the way he was blushing. He could only hope the night had managed to hide what he ccould not, "Flattery will get you nowhere." He grumbled, turning his head so he could no longer feel the touch of Altair's finger tips (calloused and rough, yet gentle). He was not some starry eyed woman who could be swayed by pretty words (but he could be swayed by the look in Altair's eyes, as if Malik held his entire attention). He stood, "I am going to sleep. Remember to wake Kadar for his watch." He paused for a moment, then looked back and said more softly, "give me time to think on this."

If Altair were disappointed he did not let it show, "I mean it though. I will show you how to perform an air assassination when we return. If you want."

"If I want to have to request a new hidden blade, you mean?" He thought about it for a moment, "If you are willing. I would like to see it."

Altair nodded, "When we return to Masyaf then." He was smiling again and, hesitantly, Malik returned the expression.

* * *

They travelled for two weeks, from Jerusalem back to Masyaf, while sharing smiles and jests in a way that made Kadar look at them like they'd lost their minds. 

The years he'd spent falling in love with every stupid thing Malik did was put to good use as they made their way home. Judging from how easily he'd made Malik laugh just a couple of days away from Masyaf, it was working.

Then they pass through the gate and the world went dark.

* * *

Altair stood up, his chair scraping against the floor loudly, his vision swimming for a moment before it focused. The Apple rolled on his desk and he hastily reached out to steady it. It took him a fraction of a minute to take in the details of the room (his office) and the robes he wore. He cursed, one hand curled tightly against the surface of the Apple.

He was back in Masyaf, back in his robes. 

Did it fail? Did the Apple present him with an illusion and snatch it away just as he--

A knock on the door interrupted him and Altair straightened. He hid the Piece of Eden (in the same false drawer he always used when the Apple had to be put away in a rush) before he told whoever was on the other side to come in.

His hands on the desk steadied him and that was great because otherwise he might have lost his balance when Kadar (dressed in assassin whites) came in through the door. "Safety and peace, Mentor."

"Safety and peace." Sounded like it had been pushed out from his lungs. Then it was, "where is your brother?"

The question made Kadar pause with his mouth already open to begin some kind of report. He looked at Altair like he'd asked about snow in the desert and it frightened him.

(What if something had happened to Malik? What if instead of his arm he'd lost something far more critical? What if--)

"I believe he's still on a mission to Acre." Kadar answered slowly, like he were buying himself time to think. "Did he do something?"

"No." Altair was quick to reassure him, sitting back down. He gave no further explanation and, instead, just waved at Kadar to continue with whatever business he had come with.

Kadar was giving him a strange look (and Altair thought, such a thing wasn't a good quality in an assassin, to be so obvious) that didn't leave his face even as he finished giving his report.

But he did not ask which saved Altair from having to tell a lie.

* * *

It was nearly seven days travel from Acre to Masyaf. If Malik had already completed his mission and was ready to return it would still take a week, longer than that if he had been injured (but maybe he was already on his way and the wait would be shorter).

There were letters from Acre, reports of successful and failed missions but they only contained the names of the targets in order to ensure the protection of their order and their brothers ( _never compromise the Brotherhood_ ). None of the names matched the target that Malik had been sent to take out

Every day passed like an eternity and by the thrid day Altair was already impatient (and lonely) for him to return when he got a pigeon from Acre declaring that Malik had completed his mission successfully and was on his way home.

* * *

He hadn't been looking for Malik when he stumbled upon him and another brother speaking.

Altair stopped at the end of the hall, simply admiring the crooked smile Malik wore as he tilted his head. It seemed he had entered in the middle of a conversation because Malik was saying, "I have just returned. I have heard no news of another assignment yet."

The other man who, judging from his robes, was at least a few ranks below Malik, sighed, "I will be sent to Acre tomorrow."

"A pity that." Malik stepped forward a step, leaning in closer and Altair's shoulder stiffened. It was not overt, but Altair could recognize the invitation in the lines of Malik's body and way his eyes were lidded. He had been on the receiving end of that _look_ enough to know Malik meant to take the man to bed. The man speaking to him seemed to know it as well because he visibly swallowed when Malik continued with, "Perhaps we could share a drink tonight? It has been a while since we last caught up with each other."

He was going to say, _yes_ , it was clear to anyone with eyes. It made Altair's chest tight. It was jealousy, but also something else that made it difficult to think (at all). He wasn't aware of the decision to call out but there he was, saying Malik's name and walking towards them, his footsteps deliberately loud to command their attentions. 

It destroyed the mood as the other assassin backed away from Malik and greeted him formally, "Mentor."

Malik, meanwhile, straightened, all trace of good humour gone from his face, and nodded at him, "Did you need something?"

No.

"Yes." He said before he turned on his heels. "Come with me."

He didn't need to see to know Malik was probably rolling his eyes with a sneer before he said, "As you wish."

Altair felt something uneasy settle in his stomach. Things had seemed to be going well after Solomon's Temple...so what had happened?

* * *

When the door shut behind Malik any pretense of non-hostility disappeared.

"What is so important that you couldn't wait a single moment longer to ask me?"

Altair stared down at his desk. "You haven't given your mission report."

"Yes." Malik snapped, stepping close enough to the table to slam his hand on top of it. "The report you needed so badly that you were _wandering around the fortress_ instead of waiting for me in the only place where I'd reasonably be expected to find you?" Because he had to do it eventually, Altair looked up. He didn't flinch when he met Malik's eyes but it was a close thing. When had Malik last looked at him with this level of hostility? It had to be that first visit after Solomon's Temple. But back then it had been tinged with grief and exhaustion. Now it was fierce and so _alive_ and Altair would have been glad to see it if it were directed at anyone but him.

"Malik--" He started and Altair didn't think there was anything about it that should have made things worse but Malik recoiled from him. Then, quick as a snake striking he pulled out a throwing knife and buried it into the wood near where Altair's hands had been spread over the surface.

"Don't look at me like that." He leaned in with a snarl. Malik's grip was tight on the handle and it seemed like he wanted to pull it out and stab it somewhere more lethal (it might have hurt less if he did). Finally, he let go and backed away. "Don't think I'll play this game with you again." Was a hiss right before he turned and stormed out of the room.

* * *

He read over thepapers spread over his desk, all of them mission reports beginning with Solomon's Temple and ending with the retaking of Masyaf.

The events described by Kadar and Malik matched what he remembered happening (this time) and he himself hadn't said much (that had been odd). He poured through his own mission reports following that day, tracking the deaths of the same men he had been sent to kill in his own timeline (he wondered what had been his reason for killing them or if it had been simply another mission).

In his timeline, Malik had been the one to record the events that removed Rashid from power. They had agreed, at the time, that it was important and there was no one Altair trusted more.

(Malik had turned to him with a rueful smile. "It may not be complimentary in certain parts. Are you sure this is how you want to be remembered?"

"I trust you to tell the truth." Had been his response at the time.)

It was not Malik's familiar hand that had written down the events and not his words (concise, earnest and beautiful in their directness) that filled the page explaining how Masyaf had been retaken from the traitor in their midst.

He read it and felt saddened at this lost, this reminder that, somehow or another, this thing they had shared hadn't come to fruition. Perhaps he was naive to think it would, despite how the things that had driven them apart also pulled them together.

But it wasn't just that Malik didn't love him: he seemed to actively hate Altair for having wronged him in some way that was more specific and personal than simply being an arrogant ass. If he couldn't figure out how that happened, he'd never be able to fix this.

He might have summoned Kadar and asked but he did not need the Brotherhood to think their Mentor had gone mad.

Altair put the last of the papers back down before gathering them all again and started placing them in order. When he finished, Altair reached over to where he'd shoved the rest of his work and dug around until he found something to write on as well as write with.

(Malik would be aghast at the state of his desk.)

He what he could remember of the events from the past he remembered while leaving a blank space on the other half of the paper.

Maybe if he could figure out what had been different, exactly, he could figure out where things had gone wrong.

* * *

He stayed in his study long after he'd finished his list (adding in details he gathered from a stack of mission reports he'd requested to be found detailing Malik and Kadar's missions between Solomon's Temple and Rashid's betrayal). 

He had stared at the paper for far too long, willing some of it to make sense.

In his mind (in his memories) Malik chided him, _the Brotherhood will not run itself, Altair_.

When Altair could stand sitting idle no longer, he gathered some of his other work blindly. There was supposed to be a pile of work that could be done without crossreferencing anything else, mindless work that Malik let him take with him outside to finish. But his current desk didn't use any familiar sorting system. He wasn't sure what it was he took with him when stood from his desk and left the room, still lost in thought.

(What sort of man might he have been, if he had never been humbled by demotion, if he had never had to face the consequences of his rash actions after Solomon's Temple? What if he and Malik had never found any common ground? What might the person he was have done--)

His feet carried him to one of his and Malik's favourite hiding spots (was he still welcome here, when it had been Malik's spot long before it had been _theirs_?), a small space near the ceiling one of the towers that was difficult to get to if one didn't know where the handholds were. He climbed to the top and sat there with his back against the wall and one foot danlging idly off the thick wooden beam. As he laid the papers he'd taken with him on his lap.

He had forgotten to bring something to write with.

Malik would probably have laughed at him for such a mistake. He closed his eyes and he could almost see how Malik might have looked at him and it brought along with it a feeling of being (and having) lost. 

Altair wasn't sure how long he spent there, just staring at the ceiling (trying to figure out where he had gone wrong and how he might fix it) when the door opened. He looked down at the same time Malik, who looked small all the way down at the floor, looked up.

Malik seemed offended that Altair had found his little spot (that he hadn't shared with anyone) and Altair wasn't sure whether to be amused or despair over how it was one more reason for Malik to dislike him.

He was considering what he could say to fix this when Malik crossed his arms (and no matter what happened now th very sight of that would make everything worth it), and tilted his head like he was considering something.

"Altair," he called up to the rafters after a moment. "Come down." He didn't seem as angry as before and it might have been a relief if Altair didn't know better.

But he could still hope.

* * *

Malik gestured for him to follow after his feet hit the ground.

He was led to the training area, past the training rings where all the novices were doing their lessons, past a couple of assassins who were sparring. They went to a training ring that was tucked around a corner, reserved for higher ranked brothers who wished to practise away from prying eyes.

They had come before, often when one of them were upset with something (or when the mundane paper work made them restless).

Altair stopped there, at the edge of the training ring, and it felt like the world had gone back to normal. 

Any moment now, Malik would turn to him with a sigh, maybe call him an idiot before offering to spar with him--

Malik turned to him without a sound, he drew his sword without anything like even like warmth.

"Draw your weapon, Altair."

Altair jumped over the fence marking the boundaries of the training ring. He did not move to draw his weapon, his heart, which had been hammering in his chest not a moment ago calmed as he stepped closer to the middle of the ring where Malik stood. "Malik--"

The sword in Malik's hand was raised, keeping Altair at a distance. "Draw you weapon."

There was something Malik was looking for, he could tell. Though what it was he couldn't guess. All Altair could do was follow along and see where it led.

So Altair took two steps back and drew his sword with a fluid motion.

As soon as he did, Malik charged him. It wasn't their usual fight and Altair realized, belatedly, that this Malik had never needed to change his fighting style to accomadate the loss of an arm.

He didn't have to rely on only parries and deflection. He could block with the full strength of his entire body (and didn't have his left side open as bait to draw his enemies into his traps).

Still, Malik was a lot more aggressive than Altair had ever seen him, pushing forward and not giving Altair any room to breathe. Their swords locked and Malik pushed forward, putting their faces close and asked, "tell me what happened in Solomon's Temple." Then he side stepped, swinging his body around and angling his sword, making Altair's momentum glance off to the side. It was an old trick, one Malik preferred over others: to throw his opponent off balance and deal a decisive blow. Altair righted his own stance, turning to delfect the next stroke of Malik's sword.

"We were sent on a mission." He grunted when Malik came at him again, feigning a strike to the left, only to thrust forward instead. Altair stepped to the side, letting the strike glance past him.

"Who was with us?" He said as Altair moved forward even before he saw the flcik of Malik's wrist, catching his arm in his own before he could cut upwards. Malik didn't give him a time to answer before he pulled his head back to headbutt him.

Altair grit his teeth, following the moment of the hit to move back (because he wouldn't put it past Malik to bite him next if he didn't), but, unwilling to concede his advantage, slid his hand up to Malik's wrist and twisted it until his sword fell with a clatter. "Only Kadar was sent with us." Was an automatic response because if he wasted any time to think about anything else other than what he was going to do about the fact Malik was trying to kick him, he'd be in a great deal of pain.

Legs were more powerful but hands were _faster_ , so Altair punched him. But Malik ducked and the low kick was a feint (of course it was) and Malik pushed forward with his body, while his foot planted itself behind Altair's causing him to fall. Altair took brief moment to try to remember which side Malik's sword had landed before rolling Malik in the opposite direction. Pinning Malik down was no easy feat with him kicking and bucking to get him off. It was all the harder when he continued his barrage of questions with, "What did you do when we fought Robert De Sable?"

"Robert De Sable threw me from the room." Came out breathless as Altair tried to grab onto Malik's hand which only resulted in him being struck accross the head, "I couldn't make it back and Kadar--" the words were swallowed back and Altair's eyes went wide as he realized what truth he was about to admit. The distraction was all Malik needed to flip them around, unsheathing the knife he kept behind his back and press it against Altair's throat.

"That didn't happen." Malik said and Altair wondered how much of what had been unsaid he understood (whether he was able to deduce the reason for the the grief in Altair's eyes). 

He was panting, his fingers shaking where they were pressed against Altair's shoulder. His teeth were bared but his face had become pale.

Malik had always been clever.

"No." Altair said and he reached up to cup Malik's cheek and the way Malik leanmed away from the touch was more painful than anything else he'd done today. "He is safe. And so are you." The knife was pressed more firmly against his throat.

"What happened to me in that place?" He said.

Altair considered lying. Lying was never a skill he had mastered but more importantly Malik had aleays valued honesty and believing a painful truth was still better than a comforting lie. "Malik." He said and he wondered if it would be enough, that name and the way his eyes darted to the side where some assassins were coming around the corner (maybe to get some late training in, maybe to fool around). But Malik's head turned slightly and then the knife was gone.

"You _will_ explain." Was not meant to be questioned or refused.

Altair stood up, rubbing a hand over his neck. "It was the least you deserve."

They did not speak as the left the training ring, only greeting the brothers who bowed to Altair. (He remembered when they'd have held each others' hands the moment they thought no one would be looking, the secret smiles they'd share as they walked, hand in hand.)

* * *

They went to Altair's chambers because there was always someone who needed his attention during the day and if he remained in his study there was no guarrantee they would not be interrupted.

Malik crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, not coming any further inside.

"Explain yourself."

Altair smiled wryly, "I do not know how much you will believe. It was a strange tale."

"Stop being cryptic, Altair." Was Malik at his most impatiant and Altair watched with fascination as Malik's left fingers tapped a quick, unsteady rhythm against his right arm.

"...I do not know where to start."

Malik sighed and leaned back more heavily against the door. "Start with Solomon's Temple."

And it was as good a place as any to begin. So Altair told him, as much as he could remember, his eyes cast towards the ground. He finished with Al Mualim's betrayal and death, Malik becoming his Right Hand, and finally (finally) getting things in masyaf settled down.

"But then...? My arm was," Malik waved his left arm to indicate its wholeness, "and Kadar was still alive. That was not the past I remembered happening."

"For you, it would not be." Altair said, "I made sure of that."

"The Apple." Malik said and it was exactly the same tone of voice he had always used: suspicious and flat. It made Altair smile a little more genuinely to hear (it made him more homesick).

"You believe me?" Altair asked. They were not standing anything like close to each other and that was for the best. If Altair couldn't control the soft hope in his voice then there was little reason to believe he'd be able to contain the need to reach out and touch Malik.

Malik looked down at his feet as if lost in thought before he shook his head. "When we were in Solomon's Temple, right before you...changed the past, I had a...vision." There was no doubt a wrinkle between Malik's brow: he had never much trusted seers or prophecies. "I have seen more of them in my dreams. I see the events as you had described them. They come infrequently now, but in the days after Solomon's Temple they had haunted me each night."

"I'm sorry." Altair said, because Malik had told him, once, what exactly had happened in Solomon's Temple and after. "I had wanted to spare you those memories."

Malik waved him off. "They were nothing but nightmares. I had never told anyone about them; not even Kadar." Malik pulled out a folded piece of parchment from where it had been tucked away, "so imagine my surprise when I found this in your office."

He handed Altair the list he'd made earlier and left on his desk. There were scant details on it but it must have matched enough with what Malik remembered to make him suspicious. "I locked the door." Altair said and it wasn't an accusation, exactly.

"I picked the lcok." He said. Malik was quiet, his expression told Altair that he was struggling towards some sort of answer and that Altair should give him the space to figure out what it was. He did not have to wait long before Malik asked, "you are not the Altair that had returned to Masyaf with us."

"I don't know." Altair admitted. "I remember riding with you until the gates of Masyaf from Jerusalem. I do not remember anything after that." Malik let out a soft, _ah_. Then, because he couldn't _not_ ask, "what did I do that made you hate me?"

"I am not sure the two of you are even the same man. It does not seem fair to hold you accountable for something a different man did." Malik said and it was not the same way he had said it in Jerusalem. It was more guarded, less certain, nothing but a shadow of what had been, a possible road untravelled.

(It hurt, but was reassuring because no matter what it was still _Malik_.)

"I wish to know."

"Very well." Malik leaned more heavily against the door. "We returned victorious from our mission and gave the Apple to Rashid. You--he was being awfully quiet which would not have surprised me before if you hadn't spent the whole trip--" Malik hesitated on the word.

"Flirting," Altair finished for him, "I was flirting with you."

Malik brought a hand to his mouth with a hum (he did that when he couldn't stop a smile that he didn't want anyone to see). It was a gesture Altair hadn't seen when they were alone in a while. "You were. It wasn't something he wanted to admit to when we returned." Altair winced. It had been so long since he'd been that arrogant man who had ruined Malik and Kadar's lives, but it wasn't hard to imagine what he might have felt (what he might have done and said) if he came back from a mission he didn't remember, with Malik smiling at him and talking to him like they were friends (or something on the road towards being something more).

"We had sex." Wasn't exactly what Altair expected, neither was the way Malik avoided looking at him like he were ashamed of the admission. He waited, but Malik didn't elaborate, only continued on with, "he discovered Rashid's treachery, and were hailed as a hero by the Brotherhood which propelled him into the position of Mentor. But he was still arrogant and still very much an ass. Opinions about his suitablity to lead us remains divisive." probably because Malik felt it was more important for him to know this.

But Altair had pieces of this puzzle already. They were: Malik's anger earlier, his words ("Don't think I'll play this game with you again."), and his embarrassment, it painted an all too clear picture. Malik wasn't a stranger to meaningless sex, but he did not give his trust blithely, and he did not share his affection with just anyone.

To think, he had tried to wipe one betrayal off history, only to create another.

Malik stepped away from the door with a sigh. Clapping a hand on Altair's shoulder. "Do not apologize. You and he are not the same."

He covered Malik's hand with his own. "Thank you." Which was not the same as, _I know._

"Were we--" Malik hesitated again. He was looking at their hands (thinking about the casual way Altair touched him), "involved?"

"Yes." Altair said. "It did not happen right away. You forgave me and I thought it was all I could ever want from you. I was wrong." Malik pulled his hand gently so Altair let it go. "You always did say I was a greedy man." And he knew what was going to happen next when Malik looked at him with an apology and pity in his eyes.

"I do not love you." 

Altair had thought himself prepared; he was not. He was no stranger to pain, but Malik's words cut more deeply and painfully than anything else. It may have been kinder if Malik had simply plunged a knife into his chest.

Altair shut his eyes, "I understand."

For a moment he almost hoped it would be like when they were back in Jerusalem and Malik will tell him that he did not, that what Malik was saying did not mean what Altair thought they did.

But all Malik said was, "I'm sorry." And for all its sincerity it made the pain _worse_ , "I cannot love you the way he did. I cannot even imagine how he could forgive you let alone--" For all that Malik was not always kind he did not try to be cruel and he did not finish the sentence. "I cannot imagine it." His voice was soft, but it does not ease the hurt. "Perhaps that makes him a better man than I am."

Altair sighed, "do not belittle yourself." He fixed Malik with a stern look, "You are every inch the man I loved. I see him in the way you stand and act and sound."

"But I am not him."

"No."

There was nothing else to say after that. Altair had once promised to take whatever Malik was willing to give, the promise was every bit as l valid _now_.

Malik had made his choice and though it wasn't the one Altair hoped for it was all he would get.

"If you could choose again," Malik started, "would you still change the past? Knowing what you do now?"

_Knowing that I wouldn't love you?_

"Yes." That answer came easily, "you had lost your arm and your brother because of my arrogance. It was supposed to be my price to pay not yours." And now he has paid it. "I had not expected this to be the price I owed, but it was...fitting." That he had lost Malik so much only to lose Malik in the end. His arrogance had cost Malik the things he cared about the most (his brother and his life as an assassin), so it was only right that Altair must pay something of equal value (Malik's secret smiles and the warmth of his embraces when they fell asleep together at night).

Malik frowned, "Self-deprication does not befit you." He stepped closer and brought his hand up. It did not brush the side of Altair's face as he imagined it might and instead, settled on his shoulder, "Would he have agreed?"

Altair chuckled weakly, "I doubt it. Then again, perhaps I did not do it for him." Malik's frown did not ease, and Altair was struck by a sudden, selfish whim. "Malik," He slid a hand up and cupped Malik's cheek, slow enough that the motion could be seen a mile away. Malik flinched, but did not move away, "I Could I ask for just one selfish request?"

"...that depends on what you are asking for."

He thumbs over Malik's cheek and regrets that this was probably the last time he will be allowed this. "Could I kiss you?"

He tried very hard not the expect anything. Instead, he waited as Malik mulled over the request, before finally nodding.

When he did, Altair's second hand came up to frame Malik's face as he steps closer. Malik's eyes fell shut with a sigh and Altair leaned in almost reverently to press their lips together. His own eyes slid shut as he languidly, but purposefully moved his lips against Malik's.

It was a familiar gesture but Altair was careful not to push his boundaries. There was no tongue or teeth involved, but he takes Malik's lips as if he intended to memorize the feel and warmth of them.

He was not lying. He would have chosen to change the past even knowing this would be the result.

But, had he known, he would have done it differently.

He would have sought out Malik before delving into the past. He would kiss him, like this, only he would take it further. He would map the inside of Malik's mouth with his tongue, until all they could taste were each other. He'd hold him and call him every endearment until Malik laughed and lightly thumped him on the shoulder, telling him to stop before Altair claimed his mouth again. Then he'd make love to him. He'd worship every inch of Malik's skin until he'd memorized the touch of Maliks skin beneath his fingers and the taste of his skin, until Malik was moaning and writhing, breath stuttering with every contact.

When they were done, he'd hold Malik, as if he never intended to let go. He'd stroke the spot at the nape of Malik's neck that always makes him sigh contentedly and smile. He wouldn't say goodbye, but he'd kiss the top of Malik's head and talk about the future, of what they will do when the day begins anew and how they may live when they were old men with whites in their hair and lines in their faces.

Then he'd take all that, the smiles, the laughter and the fond look in Malik's eyes when he called him a romantic fool and press it close to him until it was carved into his very bones and tatooed to his heart. All that he would already be carrying with him when he added the weight of the Apple to his hand and ended everything.

The kiss ended all too soon, and when it did, they both step back. Altair did his best to not read anything into the way Malik licks his lips when they part.

"If there iss nothing more you need from me..."

"No. You may go." Altair was careful to keep his tone neutral, "Safety and peace, Malik."

"Safety and peace."


End file.
